


Where the Road Leads

by profit_of_the_prophet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, M/M, Smut, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profit_of_the_prophet/pseuds/profit_of_the_prophet
Summary: McCree is in love at first sight. Hanzo takes a little longer.





	1. Chapter 1

His first thought was, _God damn, that's a beautiful man._

McCree admired the heaven sculpted cheekbones and eyes as sharp as the arrows strapped to his back. His eyes were drawn to the muscles bulging under an intricate tattoo, pulled tight with the strength needed for the arrow pointed straight at McCree's head.

Moments before, McCree had been walking along, enjoying the warm day when he spotted someone pressed against the trunk of a tree, looking in the direction of the river's edge. They were clearly an assassin, what with the obvious all black outfit and a mask covering their face. McCree followed their eyesight to where a man sat contemplating the water, a bow in front of him. The watcher slipped out of their hiding place, making no sound as they moved. McCree was not surprised to see them pull out a long, sharp knife.

They had the knife at the sitting man's throat when McCree dealt him a shot to the head with Peacemaker.

The bowman had jumped up in a second at the shot and had his arrow pointed at McCree before the smoke left the air.

"Woah, now, put that thing away before you poke someone's eye out," McCree said, making a show of putting his gun away and raising his hands in front of him. "Unless you missed it, I just saved your life."

The beautiful man glanced at the body, fallen backward on the grass, and lowered his bow.

"You have my thanks," he said bowing his head.

He returned his arrow to its quiver and knelt by the retired assassin to peel back his mask. His scowl deepened and he said something in Japanese.

"Friend o’yours?" McCree said, kneeling down beside him.

The man did not look at him. "No."

The man stood and started walking away without a word or a glance.

Now, McCree didn't do anything for no reason; he was a sensible man, in his humble opinion. He'd never fallen in love at first sight, and he wasn't dumb enough to get involved with someone who had assassins on his tail. Despite all these things, a small voice inside was telling him " _Don't let this one go_."

McCree jogged to catch up with him.

"My name's McCree, Jesse McCree," he said tipping his hat.

The man looked at him, saying nothing, and returned to staring straight ahead, walking so briskly that McCree had trouble keeping up.

"Mind if I ask your name, samurai?"

"I am not a samurai," he said, somehow walking faster as if he could out walk McCree.

"Then what are ya?" McCree persisted.

The man lets a long moment of silence pass before muttering, "My name is Hanzo Shimada."

A wide smile cracked on his face. "Pleasure to meet you, Hanzo." He liked the taste of the name in his mouth.

"Why do you follow me? If you want thanks for saving my life, you should know I have no money."

"Now, now, do I look like that sort o' guy? All's I'm after is some company on this lonely road. You're headed to Jasper right?"

Hanzo slowed a bit. "If that is where this road leads, then that is where I am going."

"Ain't that just the way," McCree said approvingly. "You an’ me are more alike than it looks, it seems. I've been running around for years, from town to town, never staying nowhere for long. What're you running from, Mr. Hanzo?"

Hanzo had slowed down where it almost felt like he was walking rather than half running.

"My family. They seek my death, and I seek redemption."

"My, that's heavy. Pardon if I'm too bold for asking, but what does redemption mean for ya?"

Hanzo chewed his thoughts before replying, "I do not know yet. I will find a way, no matter how long it takes."

McCree hummed his understanding, though he really did not, and they continued on for another hour, McCree making comments on the weather or how hungry he was until they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

McCree couldn't stop looking at Hanzo. The profile of his lips, his hair against his face, the curve of his back. He had never been so instantly taken with someone before, and while he was sure his attraction was obvious to Hanzo, he did his best to hide it and Hanzo either didn't notice or pretended not to.

When they finally arrived at Jasper, the sun was setting orange halos across the buildings. They found a fast food place and McCree treated Hanzo to burgers, who somehow had never had one before. Hanzo finished it off in less than a minute. After McCree was done laughing, he said, "That good, huh?”

Hanzo blushed but kept his dignified expression. “I have not had a proper meal in three days, McCree, so excuse my lack of manners,” he snapped.

“Why’re you so broke? Ain't ya putting that bow to use?”

“It is hard. I know no one and have to keep my head low to avoid the wrath of the assassins that hunt me down.”

McCree nodded. “I can see your predicament. Tell ya what. Let's be friends. You and me, taking bounties, we’ll make twice the cash. I got people ‘round the world howling to hire me, and twice as many trying to kill me, so I think it'll be a good match. Whaddya say; partners?”

He holds out his hand.

Hanzo looks startled, and after only a moment's hesitation in which he looked into McCree's eyes, judging the man he saw in them, he takes his hand and they shake.

From that day forward, it's the two of them against the world. McCree handles the people, scoring jobs, making sure they get their cash, while Hanzo sat there looking pretty (the fact he was trying to look intimidating entirely lost to McCree). They spent their nights in whatever run down hotel their current job took them to, sometimes staying if they liked the place until they'd spent all their money and needed a new gig. And all the while McCree was slowly but surely falling in love.

It wasn't just his looks, though it helped his cause; he loved talking to him. He loved when he could make him laugh, and felt a warmth spread through his very heart when Hanzo would actually make a joke, no matter how terrible they tended to be.

He was in huge trouble, and he knew it.

Hanzo never showed any interest, opposition or even reaction to McCree's growing feelings. Not that McCree wanted him to; he was happier without the weight of rejection in their relationship. McCree buried his desire in cigars, bourbon and whatever willing little thing he met at the bar. If none of these could be found, he'd lock himself in the bathroom and let his mind and hands wander until he was sated.

They were chasing down a bounty in Dorado, a gang leader responsible for the murder of a government official, who'd get them a couple thousand to ride on for a while. Hanzo was scouting ahead to find a good vantage point on the targets hideout while McCree took a more forward approach by storming the front door. There were a couple of gangsters guarding the door, but Hanzo had arrows sticking from each of their foreheads before they could even grab their guns to shoot at McCree. The guy was inside, eating his supper with a couple of his men, all of whom had their guns out and pointed at McCree as soon as he busted down the door. He rolled out of the way of their first shot and took them down one by one before the could fire their second. The target took the opportunity of McCree killing his men to rush out the door. McCree swore but seconds later heard a thud and saw the guy fall to his knees and collapse, an arrow sticking from his chest.

“God damn it, Hanzo, ya know the reward gets cut in half for the dead ones,” McCree said as he pulled the arrows out of the bodies for Hanzo, a well-practiced habit they both shared now.

“I was aiming for his legs. It was an unlucky shot.”

McCree wiped the blood of the arrowheads with his handkerchief before tossing them back to Hanzo. “Well, it's still a pretty pile of money; bygones be bygones and all that.”

They brought the target to their collector, a guy who took bounties from guys with bounties in return for a share of the profit, and left $800 richer than they were before. Not the best they'd done in their careers, but a pretty penny nonetheless.

“Eight hundred bucks for a man's life,” McCree said gravely, tucking the stack into his pants. “What is this world coming to.”

Hanzo did not bother with a reply, but instead was looking around at the people in Dorado’s town square.

“Do you know what they are celebrating, McCree?” he asked, watching a group of children throwing rocks at a piñata until it exploded in a burst of confetti.

 "Yeah, it's Festival de la Luz," he replies, butchering the words with his uncaring American accent. "Huge party to celebrate finishin' off the Omnic Crisis."

 Hanzo was watching a group of young girls, all half dressed an obviously drunk, singing loudly in Spanish while they smoked cigarettes on a staircase. 

McCree grabbed Hanzo’s arm and pulled him away. "Y'know what; why don't we take advantage of this fine, free night and do something fun for once," McCree said. 

Hanzo frowned. "I would rather eat."

"That can be arranged," McCree said, "but only after we work up an appetite."

He led them to the nearest bar and McCree taught Hanzo how to do a shot of tequila.

“That is disgusting.” Hanzo declared.

McCree waved at the bartender. “Another two, por favor,” he said.

Hanzo laughed. “No thank you, I would prefer my tongue to not fall off tonight.”

McCree grabbed him around the shoulders and gave him a friendly shake. “Come on, pardner, live a little!”

Hanzo shook his head but picked up the little glass nonetheless. They clinked their glasses together and simultaneously gulped and sucked on their lime slices.

Hanzo smacked his lips together. “That was not as bad as the first time, but I think it is because my tongue has lost all sensation.”

Regardless, when two more shots were poured, he downed them with vigor. Soon they were both feeling loose and happy, though McCree was pleased to discover he could hold his liquor better than Hanzo, though Hanzo just said it was not a good thing to boast about. When Hanzo had finally had enough of tequila, he'd order sake from the bartender, saying it would taste as pure as water after that swill. The bartender had a sour look in his eye as he informed him they didn't carry sake.

“No sake? And you call yourself a bar. Ridiculous.” He stood up so suddenly McCree was sure he would stumble, but apparently, alcohol only affected his mind, not his body, for he stood still and intimidating.

The bartender was not impressed.

“Maybe, sir,” he said, “you would like a white wine?”

Hanzo was appalled. “You compare white wine to sake? Absurd! It is like comparing water to sake!”

McCree was trying real hard to keep from laughing, but it was getting impossible. He'd never seen Hanzo so riled up; when they had drunk together before it had always been sake or a sip of McCree's bourbon, which he'd put down after making a disgusted face.

So it was no small surprise to find out Hanzo was an angry drunk.

“Let's call it quits and find some burgers, eh, Hanzo, whaddya say?” McCree said, already leading him toward the door.

“That man has insulted my honor , I will not let it stand.”

“What in tarnation - when did he do that.”

This question stumped Hanzo for long enough for McCree to throw a handful of bills on the bar and escort the two of them out of there.

“Did he not say something about Japan and it's inadequate liquor? That is what I heard.”

“No, an' even if he did, how is sake part o’ yer honour?”

Hanzo chewed on this, apparently taking longer to think. Then he started to laugh, until he was in hysterics. “It seems you got me drunk, McCree! I am not thinking straight.” He shook McCree's hand off his shoulder and chuckled a little more to his own thoughts.

“We should find somewhere to sleep before I do something unwise.”

So they staggered around, looking for a crappy cash only inn they could pass out in.

They found a small building called Refugio de Peregrino and asked for two rooms.

“Lo sciento, señor,” the innkeeper told McCree.

“What did he say?” Hanzo asked, not being able to understand Spanish.

McCree scratched his head. “We’ll have to keep lookin’. This guy's only got one room left.”

Hanzo did not move. “And what is the problem?”

McCree could shit. “There's only one bed!”

Hanzo passed a hand over his face. “I am tired, McCree, and more drunk than I ever have been in my whole life. We will not even notice each other. Do not be ridiculous.”

McCree didn't move, so Hanzo went over and tried to convey to the monolingual innkeeper his want for the last room. Without realising it, they were there, Hanzo setting down his bag on the single armchair and then crashing onto the bed face first.

McCree locked himself in the bathroom, heart racing like a speed train being chased. He wasted time brushing his teeth, pissing the tequila, and staring at his own face in the mirror until he thought Hanzo might be asleep, then he crept out, only to see Hanzo sitting up, staring at him.

“Finally. I thought you would never get out,” he said, and stood up. McCree tensed as he walked towards him, tipping only slightly to the side, and shoved his way past to the bathroom. When the door shut McCree was left feeling frozen. How was he, a hot blooded male with quite a few drinks coursing through him, meant to sleep tonight? He considered the armchair, a little brown thing that looked more wood than fabric. The bed wasn't small; it looked like a queen size. Still, he had never slept beside Hanzo, and he wasn't sure he could handle it.

“McCree, you're a gun slingin’, whiskey swigging, bad ass motherfucker. There ain't no way ya can't handle a little challenge like this.”

He decided to just get in bed and pretend he was already sleeping.

Hanzo emerged a few seconds later, shirt gone, armour off, just wearing a pair of baggy pants. McCree shut his eyes and rolled over so he was facing the wall.

“McCree.” Hanzo shook him. “McCree, I can not find the light switch.”

McCree turned over and flinched back when he realized how close Hanzo’s face was, heat surging through his face.

“The fuck you mean, it's on the wall, ain't it?” He said this, but when he went looking for the switch, he couldn't find it either. “The fuck sort o’ place doesn't have a light switch.”

Hanzo lay down on the bed with his head in one hand and the other propped up on his hip. The image looked too much like he was trying to seduce him for McCree's comfort, so he turned away quickly.

“I'll go ask down at the desk,” McCree said, reaching for the door handle.

Hands circled his chest and a warm breath touched his neck. He froze.

“McCree,” Hanzo’s voiced murmured into his skin. But it couldn't be.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said, sounding shy to use his first name, something he had never done.

McCree's heart was so loud he was sure Hanzo could hear it. He swallowed before saying, “Hanzo,” but whatever he intended to follow it dissolved in his mouth when Hanzo kissed his neck.

He couldn't believe it. Didn't dare to turn around. He couldn't even take his hand off the doorknob, half in fear if he did either Hanzo would realize what he was doing and stop, or McCree would turn and see he was imagining it, and it was all a dream.

Hanzo ran his hands over McCree's chest, paying special attention to his stiff nipples sticking out of his white cotton t-shirt. He murmured something into McCree's neck, but McCree's heart was drowning it out.

“I said turn around, Jesse.”

That broke the spell, and McCree turned hungrily onto Hanzo, grabbing his face and kissing him deeply. Hanzo’s hands went up his arms until he was grabbing McCree's hair, pulling and stroking it. McCree went the other way and grabbed Hanzo’s back, pulling them closer together until McCree could feel Hanzo’s hard dick against his own.

This was really happening.

He backed Hanzo toward the bed, forcing him to sit down. Hanzo tried to drag McCree down too, but McCree pushed his hands away so he could strip his shirt off. Instantly Hanzo become preoccupied with McCree's stomach, tracing the trail of hair leading to the bulge in his pants, which he experimentally brushed the back of his fingers against, looking at McCree's face as he did so.

McCree was lost. He didn't know what expression he wore, except that it must have been raw and extremely lustful. Hanzo undid the string on McCree's pants, slowly and surely, his hands brushing against McCree's cock with every slow pull of the strings. 

 _He's teasing me_ , McCree realized. He put his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders and pushed him down, kissing his neck and rubbing himself against Hanzo, slowly, teasingly. Hanzo moaned, a sound so godly McCree could have yelled hallelujah then and there. Instead he stroked harder, digging his hand down the front of Hanzo’s pants and grabbing his dick. Hanzo bit his lip so hard he could taste blood.

McCree pulled back, alarmed, but the look on Hanzo’s face was lustful, eyes half closed, and he reached up to grab McCree's hair and tug him down again. McCree kept stroking Hanzo’s cock until Hanzo could barely focus on kissing him, and simply lay his head back, making sounds the likes of which McCree swore were sent from the angels, if not for how sinful the context was.

Suddenly impatient, McCree jumped backward off the bed and kneeled in front of Hanzo, pulling his pants the rest of the way off and running his hands up his thighs. Hanzo visibly shivered with want, and looked down at McCree's face, staring with awe at the image before him.

“Jesse,” he breathed. “Please.”

McCree grabbed Hanzo’s dick by the base and slowly drew his mouth over it, pressing his tongue flush against the underside, relishing the silky feeling. Hanzo groaned so loudly that McCree groaned in return, feeling the vibrations all the way to his straining hard cock. He started working up and down, licking and sucking from the tip to the base, lost in the process like he'd never been before. Hanzo’s fingers were in his hair, pulling and kneading until McCree felt he could come just from the obvious pleasure he was giving Hanzo.

“Jesse,” Hanzo croaked. “I am going to - to - ahh!"

He came while McCree had his mouth covering his tip, hot and salty. McCree let it fill his mouth, and kept sucking until Hanzo was pulling his hair so hard he felt some of it come out, then he finally let go, cum dripping into his beard. He tended to himself quickly, not even needing to try that hard to finish. Hanzo lay on the bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, not speaking.

McCree stumbled to the bathroom the rinse out his mouth and collect a handful of tissues to bring back to Hanzo.

Hanzo was lying just as he left him, arms spread out on either side of him, legs half off the bed, naked as he could get, and fast asleep. McCree laughed a bit, shaking his head, and got busy wiping what spilled on to his legs and slipping his pants back on. It was a little harder positioning Hanzo to lie on one side of the bed; he kept spreading himself wide, taking up all the space. McCree realized with a jolt that it probably didn't matter much anymore. After what they just did, having to lie on top of him would be a perfectly acceptable pleasure. He slipped his shirt back on and tried to get himself comfortable lying on Hanzo’s arm, but he had too much bulk on the man to be of any use. Instead he shoved Hanzo to the side and pulled him on top of him - how he didn't wake up with all this pushing and pulling escaped McCree - and enjoyed the rush of warmth as Hanzo found McCree under him and held him close. He was almost falling asleep, drugged by the proximity and avoiding the feelings of disbelief when he realized the lights were still on.


	2. Chapter 2

Hanzo woke up with an arrow in his head. Figuratively, of course. After a life of responsible drinking he'd never been any more than groggy the morning after drinks. It was the seven shots of tequila McCree had convinced him to do the night before. Or was it ten? It all became a blur after a while, but he could still remember promising he'd never drink the stuff again.  _ Damn McCree, _ he thought sourly. That man was always convincing him to do stupid things. From jumping on trains to convincing government officials they were cosplayers, even teaming up had been a stupid but convincing thing. 

Hanzo tried to fall back asleep but he was too uncomfortable. His head hurt, it was too bright, and the bed was hard and lumpy. He slowly dragged himself awake  and opened his eyes. McCree lay inches away, sleeping like a baby, his arm serving as Hanzo’s pillow and his body as his bed. Somehow Hanzo had ended up lying on top of the cowboy, hugging him with his legs and arms like a body pillow. He started to try to roll over but McCree instantly grabbed him and pulled him closer. 

“Wake up, you fool,” he said, struggling to pull away. Then he saw McCree's eyes were open and looking at him with soft clear attention. He froze, cast in shock.

McCree kissed his collarbone, rubbing his back. 

“What are you doing,” Hanzo said.

McCree smiled, though his brow creased. “What, don't you remember… oh.”

Hanzo jumped out of McCree's now lax arms. 

“McCree, we did not.” It was a statement. 

McCree didn't reply. 

Hanzo forgot about his hangover, forgot about his clothes, and stormed out, barefoot and sweating. 

“Shit,” said McCree to the closed door. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

 

Hanzo couldn't believe it, couldn't wrap his mind around it. Of course he knew McCree was bisexual, but he couldn't be interested in Hanzo; it was unprofessional. They were partners, purely business; twice the people meant twice the cash. So why would he do something so reckless? Did he not know Hanzo did not take things like sex lightly? He supposed they didn't really know each other that well. After all, he thought McCree an honorable man, not someone who would fuck whoever was close enough if they were both drunk.

Now he was feeling angry. 

He wanted to punch something, to beat something, but every time he imagined that something being McCree, he began to imagine what it must have been like, and had to slap himself out of it. That was the worst part, in the end. He couldn't remember any of it. 

He didn't know whether he wanted to or not. 

On one hand, he still had the benefit of pretending it hadn't happened. He was sure McCree would play along; the man was a good actor when he had to be. On the other hand, McCree now had an upper hand over Hanzo, and he could use it to torture him for the rest of his life. 

He registered that he was barefoot and shirtless when a pair of old women started giggling and whispering at him. He scowled back and turned around towards the direction he came. He took a right. Then a left. Then he turned around and took the other way. He was very lost. 

Giving up the goose after about half an hour and a frustrating attempt at conveying the name of the inn he was looking for (“Peregrino. No, no, Peregrino de Luz.” “Que?”) he found a bench and sat, trying to meditate and calm his mind. His stomach was distracting him, loud and painful. He felt lost and helpless, unarmed and unclothed as he was. 

“Eh, tú. Diga su nombre.” 

Hanzo looked up to see an officer standing in front of him, hand caressing a pistol and a suspicious look in his eyes. 

“I do not speak Spanish,” Hanzo tried to explain. The officer had a gleam of mirth in his eye as he called out to another officer down the street, not looking away from Hanzo. The other officer was a much larger man, all muscle and fat, and he looked just as happy to see Hanzo as the first one. 

The started speaking to each other, laughing at jokes Hanzo couldn't hope to understand, obviously directed at him. He knew these types; men so drunk on power they had to assert it on whatever weaker form they could get away with. Clearly they had mistaken Hanzo as such. The smaller man was ordering him to do something. Probably 'stand up' by the way he was gesturing. 

“Debe ser estúpido,” said the big guy. Hanzo understood the idea of what he was saying, and stood up, glowering. The little man took a step back while the big one took one forward, eager to fight. He pulled out his baton and muttered a final warning. Hanzo did not move. 

The officer struck first, aiming for Hanzo’s head, but he ducked and jabbed the big guy’s stomach. He grunted but came up quick, aiming once again for the head. Hanzo grabbed his wrist and twisted until he released his grip with a pained cry, and Hanzo snatched the baton, quickly smacking the other officers hand before he could even try to attack. There was a quiet but definite crack, and the man groaned with pain. He was scrambling with both hands to try and grab his pistol while the big guy had grabbed Hanzo from behind. Hanzo stepped on his foot with enough force to break it and brought his elbow hard on his face.

There was a gunshot, and Hanzo flinched, but when he looked it was the officer bleeding. He still held the gun, pointed straight at Hanzo, but a new, glowing blue hole stained his temple. McCree was at the end of the street, Peacekeeper in his hand, and fury etched on his face. Hanzo quickly knocked the bigger man's head against a nearby wall, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Hanzo still wanted to avoid McCree, but he grudgingly walked over anyways, avoiding eye contact. McCree stared straight at him, uncomfortably, and once he was close enough said, “Ya God damn, noodle brained, fuck.”

Hanzo started. “Excuse me?”

“Ya run out half naked, don't come back for nearly a god damned hour, and I find you ‘boutta get your brains blown out by the fuckin’ police. Who will now be after us once that big guy wakes up.”

Hanzo took a minute to find his tongue. “You dare, after what you did, insult me?” 

Hurt flashed across McCree's face. “The hell you mean, ‘What I did.’ You mean last night? Guess you don't remember, Hanzo, but that was all you.”

“You lie.”

McCree looked disgusted, and turned away. “Let's talk about this later or we’ll never get outta the city.” 

“You disregard my honour -” 

“You shut up! I regret it, all right? I wish it had never happened, so shut the fuck up and follow me.”

He was walking away before he finished the sentence. Hanzo wanted to keep arguing, but he knew he'd be lost without him. 

The lights were off when they got back to their room. Hanzo felt along the wall, but there was no switch. McCree clapped twice, and the lights shone on 

“It's clap activated. We were trying to figure it out last night.”

Hanzo ignored this and grabbed his bag. When he turned back, he caught a painful look on McCree's face, but he smoothed it out quickly. 

“I'll be waitin’ downstairs while you get dressed,” he said, turning to walk out. 

Hanzo, left alone, was starting to feel unsure. His anger was a bad taste in his mouth and he was starting to doubt if there was any need for it. Had he truly come onto McCree like he had said? It would explain his sad expressions and relieve Hanzo of feeling like he wasn't the man he knew. That McCree would accept his propositioning him was a surprise of its own; he always thought he wanted to be friends, nothing more. He liked McCree, and didn't want to leave their partnership over this, but, considering McCree's actions in the morning, did he want them to be like that from now on? Because to Hanzo, that would make a world of difference. 

He found McCree talking to the innkeeper when he got downstairs, amused at the way they kept asking McCree to repeat himself because of his unrelenting American accent.

“There's a warrant out for our arrests, so I'm thinking we'd better head out quick as can be,” he said as the left the building. 

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Last time I was here I got out on a boat; the main roads are gonna have checkpoints if they're looking for us.”

“Then we sail,” said Hanzo.

They found a fisherman who would take $200 to carry them to the shore a couple of miles outside the city, and boarded his small dingy. Hanzo realized as soon as McCree sat down, pulling his hat over his eyes, that this was the best and worst time to talk about what happened. All his anger and indignation from earlier had gone away now, and he was left feeling a little guilty. Of course McCree wouldn't take advantage of him, and regardless of his true feelings, Hanzo had obviously been willing, even if he couldn't remember the line of thought that brought him there while drunk. 

“McCree,” Hanzo said. 

“I don't wanna hear it,” McCree drawled, not even looking up. 

“I was just going to say -”

“I get it, y’hear? I'm a terrible person to hook up with ya. My only excuse was I was drunk, but what's the use. You'll just say I shouldda known better than to think you'd wanna sleep with someone like me. Am I wrong?” McCree didn't raise his hat to look for an answer, determined not to look at Hanzo lest he say something he'd really regret. 

“Yes.”

He looked up. “What?”

“You are wrong. It is not that I hate that we slept together,” Hanzo paused, knowing how bad the truth sounded. “It is just that I didn't think you would take it seriously.”

McCree was shocked. “What the hell? Like you're just some stranger I met at a bar? Of course I'm serious!”

He stood up, looking into Hanzo’s eyes eagerly. Hanzo took a step back, thinking McCree was about to kiss him, but he grabbed his hands instead. He glanced at the fisherman to see if he was watching, but he was staring out at the water. 

“I wouldn't do that to ya if I weren't serious,” he said. 

Realization of what that meant blossomed suddenly in Hanzo’s mind. He looked at McCree's eager face, thought of the soft look in his eyes that morning, all his pained expressions caught when he thought Hanzo wasn't looking, and felt cold. 

“You… wanted this all along? For the two of us to…” 

McCree looked divided between wanting to confirm or deny. Finally he said, “Since the day we met.” 

Hanzo became very aware of his hands still in McCree's, but couldn't pull them away and see that hurt look again. McCree let go instead, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Look, let's forget this happened, and I'm serious this time. We have a good thing going, and I'm not about to let that up.”

Hanzo wanted to, of course. Despite thinking it was impossible, he agreed to forget about it, and they settled on the boat, McCree with his hat over his eyes, arms crossed and legs splayed, and Hanzo cross legged and looking out at the blue horizon, though his eyes would dart to McCree more often than necessary.  


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearing the anniversary of Genji’s death, but Hanzo was still in America with McCree. He had to make arrangements to travel back to Japan, but he wasn't sure how he'd explain it to McCree. He knew that his family was after his head, but he didn't know why and Hanzo didn't want him to find out. 

So one night over dinner, he announced, "I must return to Japan."

McCree paused mid chew of his spaghetti and grunted a question. 

“My reasons are personal,” Hanzo answered. “You do not have to join me. In fact, I would rather you did not.”

McCree swallowed. “The hell are you talkin’ about, ‘course I'm coming with ya. You're going to the hub of your enemies, and you're expecting me to stay back? Who else’ll save your sorry hide.”

Hanzo liked this point, but felt awkward nonetheless at the idea of McCree by his side while he broke into Shimada Castle. That he would do on his own, like every year before.

McCree got in touch with a pilot friend of his who owed him a favour, and they set off west to meet her in California. The journey was uneventful, aside from a run in with an old “friend” of McCree's from the Deadlock gang and a night walking across the cold desert when their ride’s truck broke down - and of course riding back with a tow truck because McCree refused to let the trucker have to walk as well.

They finally reached California after a couple weeks of hitchhiking, worn out and eager for the respite of a few hours on a plane.

“Who exactly is this person who will fly us to Japan?” Hanzo asked while they were walking to the airport.

McCree let out a billow of cigar smoke. “Oh, she's just some old flame. I helped her out a couple of times over the years, so this is just her returning the favour.”

“Old flame?” Hanzo asked.

“Yeah, like we used to screw?”

“I know what it means,” he snapped, fast walking ahead.

McCree kept up. “Don't get snappish, now,” he chuckled.

They arrived at half past noon to find their pilot tinkering with something under the belly of her plane. She wasn't particularly beautiful, in Hanzo’s opinion, with her crooked teeth and frizzy hair; nonetheless she had a charm about her that reminded him of McCree. It was the way she smiled so easily at him when they were introduced - Rhonda - and the confident grace with which she moved that showed Hanzo what McCree must see in her. He watched the two hug for what felt like minutes, though it was only about ten seconds. He felt uncomfortable looking at the two of them; they acted so intimate and familiar it was like every touch was a kiss.

He avoided both of their eyes and boarded the plane.

 

“Your friend’s quite a looker, for an old man,” Rhonda teased after Hanzo had disappeared inside.

“We're just about the same age, so if you're callin’ him old, that makes you a granny.”

She punched him, hard. “Looks trump age, sweetie, you know that.”

“Still flying the same beast, I see,” McCree said as he rubbed the spot she hit, looking up at her craft.

“It may look that way, but this girl’s a whole new world compared to what you remember.” She crouched down to point something out to him on the underbelly. “See that doohickey underneath the jets there? That's an air bubble unit. Activates soon as I hit water, which I've already tested out a few times. Doesn't go too fast once you're under, but it lasts long enough to make repairs or find land. Isn't that cool?”

“Hell yeah,” he said.

“And over here is my favourite investment.” She flipped open a panel near the door. It was an assortment of six colour patches, one of which she pressed. The whole plane turned sky blue, from the wings to the windows.

McCree whistled, instantly seeing the potential. She pressed another and it turned grey, another and it went white, and another to make it black.

“I've got red too but that one's just good for parties.”

“How much did this all cost ya?” McCree asked.

“Enough to make me wanna save it for only the most special jobs,” she said with a wink. “It’ll shield us from naked eyes but not from radars, so we still have to take the long way around if you boys are up for the ride.”

McCree kissed her cheek, making her smack his arm.

“Don't go kissing me, Jesse, you know I hate that beard on me.”

“Really? I musta forgot,” he grinned. He looked up at the window to see Hanzo watching them, but he quickly ducked his head out of sight. McCree frowned, not sure what to make of that.

“Hey Jesse, before we go.” Rhonda had seen Hanzo too, and she pulled him a few feet away.

“What?”

“This Hanzo, what’d you say his last name was?”

McCree frowned, knowing where she was going. “Shimada. What about it.”

“Jesse! You know who they are? Clan of assassins, with a leader who killed his own brother for not finishing a job! And this guy's apparently part of the main family? What's he doing in Japan, Jesse?”

“That's his business, far as I'm concerned,” he said gruffly, remembering this side of her that he disliked the most, the part that asked too many questions and refused to hold any standing in instinct over fact.

“I don't trust him and neither should you,” she said, pointing a long nail at his nose.

“Well I do, so lay off an’ try to be nice,” he said, batting her hand away and storming up the stairs to the plane.

She followed him, a much too cheery smile on her face as she clapped Hanzo on the back and said, “You ready?” He nodded, shrugging her hand away.

Rhonda raised an eyebrow at McCree and moved to the front where a pair of helmets were hanging up. She picked one, which she powered up and put on, scanning whatever it was showing her. “Weather looks good, and there haven't been any incidents in the north so patrols should be low. Okay! Everyone strap in. Jesse, could you seal the doors for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grunting as he stood.

Hanzo was staring at Rhonda’s back with an awful scowl. Had he heard what she'd said? He wondered if he was offended by her mistrust.

McCree got busy locking and sealing all the doors and windows with a pop and a hiss.

Hanzo strapped himself in obediently and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep for most of the flight. McCree sat down beside him, bumping shoulders. Hanzo recoiled, pulling himself closer to the window. McCree sighed; that night really was a mistake. They'd agreed to put it in their past but they both knew it was impossible. Hanzo was ultra sensitive to McCree's very presence, and always reacted hotly when McCree touched him even slightly. For McCree, just looking at Hanzo was painful. It was better when it had just been him suffering through his unrequited feelings; having to see how uncomfortable he made Hanzo, even a month after the fact, was too much to bear.

He wanted to consult with someone on the matter, but the only two people were either a part of the problem or Rhonda, and Rhonda would never understand. She'd say he'd gone soft, that Blackwatch really had beaten his old self out of him, and she'd probably try to beat it back in.

 

Hanzo was trying really hard to sleep. He was utilizing all the techniques he knew to clear his mind and relax his body, but McCree was a furnace beside him. Why didn't he sit somewhere else? There was another pair of seats right behind the ones Hanzo had chosen. He tried to imagine himself stepping through a doorway into a garden, picturing cherry blossoms falling slowly. He imagined himself lying against the trunk of the cherry tree, feeling the sun warm against his face, but suddenly an image of McCree popped up in his mind, crouching over him lying against the tree, pinning him to the bark. He tore himself into consciousness. Dreams could not be trusted, apparently.

He tried to stand, forgetting he was still buckled in, and hurriedly released his straps.

“Hold on, there, what're ya tryin’ to do?” McCree said, putting a hand on his chest to keep him from rising.

Hanzo fought to keep his voice steady. “I have to use the washroom.”

“We're boutta take off, and you do not want to be standing when we do.”

The plane hummed and then roared as they took off without warning, and Hanzo felt himself being pressed back into his seat. McCree deftly buckled him in, which Hanzo was grateful for. After a minute the plane started to slow, and Hanzo’s heart dropped back to his chest.

He swore in Japanese. “Is this a plane or a jet?”

McCree laughed. “It's Rhonda’s pride an’ joy. Don't know how she got it, but it used to be military until she rebuilt the sonuvabitch. She's had it for ‘bout ten years, I'd reckon.”

Hanzo was impressed at how long she'd gone without getting caught.

The door to the pilot's cabin opened with a hiss, and Rhonda stepped out, stretching her arms over her head. “Well,” she said, “autopilot will cover us for a bit so why don't we get to know each other a bit better, hm?”

McCree shot her a glare.

Hanzo was not interested. “No, thank you. I would prefer some sleep right now. We have been on the road for many weeks.”

Rhonda ignored that and sat on the floor in front of him.

“So, Hanzo Shimada, why’re you going to Japan?”

“Cutting right to the chase,” said McCree disapprovingly.

“What, it's a simple question,” she said throwing her hands in the air. “I'm going to Japan because I owe that guy a favour, and he's going to Japan because you asked him to. You, Hanzo Shimada of the Shimada Clan.” She steepled her fingers under her chin and tried to stare Hanzo down.

Hanzo was not intimidated. “I will tell you what I told McCree: it is a personal matter. I also told him I would prefer to go alone, but he would not have it. If what you suspect is that I am still involved with the Shimada Clan, I will tell you that out of all the assassins that they have sent to kill me, the only one to almost succeed was stopped by him.” He tipped his chin towards McCree. “I owe him my life, so I will not let him come into harm’s way.”

Rhonda blinked. She looked at McCree, and back to Hanzo. “Are you two a couple?”

Two seconds passed by before they said, “Of course not,” and “Why would you think that?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms and nodding. “I thought it was a little strange that Jesse would be doing something like this with no reward, and now I know why.” She stood up, seeming satisfied with her conclusion.

McCree stood too. “You really couldn't be more wrong, darlin’,” he said.

She smirked and said, “Then neither of you’ll mind if I do this,” and she grabbed each side of McCree's face and kissed him.

Hanzo was at her side in an instant, a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back.

“You toy with us, when you know nothing. Cease your presumptions before my temper rises.”

She looked him up and down, incredulous at an actual threat. “You wanna fight, samurai? You gonna hit a girl?”

McCree didn't like this part of Rhonda either: always picking fights, never letting something go. Despite his annoyance at his old friend, he was enjoying Hanzo’s aggressive reaction. He knew he was just embarrassed at the insinuation of the two of them being together, but he didn't have to go so far as to push her away from him. Nonetheless, he beat down the feeling that this meant anything like he should've done the night they slept together.  

“I am not a samurai,” Hanzo growled. “If you think you stand a chance I will gladly battle you. Unless you are chicken.”

McCree decided to intervene, seeing fire in both of their eyes. “Get the hell out, Rhonda, before you do something you regret.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I'll leave you boys alone.”

McCree could see Hanzo’s anger bubbling out of his skin.

“That woman! How you could ever stand her escapes me,” Hanzo fumed.

McCree shrugged. “She's got her flaws.”

Hanzo didn't think that word did her justice.

McCree almost put his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders to comfort him, but stopped himself in time. “Hey, calm down, trigger, she's just tryin’ to get a rise outta ya. It was just a kiss; what's the big deal?”

Hanzo gaped, looking for an answer that sounded normal. The truth was that when they kissed it seemed so right, like they belonged together in a way he and McCree didn't. He didn't know why that had to bother him; their differences were what made them work so well together. Perhaps he was just worrying that now McCree had been reunited with Rhonda he'd decide there was a better partnership there.

“It does not sit well with me. I do not like being doubted. And it was wrong of her to go so far as that,” he said, looking at the cabin door venomously. “If she were a true friend she would not doubt your word. There is nothing I hate more than false displays of affection. The only reason the two of us are still together -” he cut himself off.

McCree's heart missed a beat.

“I simply could not let her insolence slide,” Hanzo finished sheepishly.

“No, come on, now, what were you gonna say? Why’re we still together?” McCree stepped closer to Hanzo, cornering him between the wall and the seats.

Hanzo didn't know where to look. “I was going to say…” he stalled, looking for an escape. McCree being so close and with that look in his eyes was making him feel like he was walking a tightrope, and any moment he would fall. “The only reason we are still partners is that your affection was true. I am only sorry mine was not; I may never know what I was thinking when I -” he had to clear his throat before quietly saying, “seduced you."

“Is that right,” McCree murmured, unable to take his eyes off of Hanzo’s.

Hanzo pushed McCree aside and quickly made his way to the bathroom in the back. It was smaller than a closet and dirty, covered in Rhonda’s curly hairs and scattered with all sorts of makeup and trash. Hanzo was hating her more and more. He did what he came to do as quickly as he could, and returned to find McCree sitting with his hat over his eyes in the same spot as before. Hanzo sat down beside him before he realized he should have taken the other seats so they wouldn't have to be so close. He reasoned it would be too strange for him to switch now, so he simply closed his eyes and tried to rest as much as he could. But no matter what, all he could picture was McCree's eyes and that damned expression, full of what could only be a painful love.


	4. Chapter 4

When at last they'd landed in Japan, Hanzo was the first one off, stretching as he breathed in the familiar air, feeling glad to be home again. McCree limped behind him, his knees not happy to walk after sitting for so long. Rhonda stayed on board where she waved goodbye and informed them they'd have to find a different way home.

“The fuck? Thinks she can leave us stranded here? Pshaw,” McCree grumbled, already feeling like he didn't belong in this unfamiliar place.

Hanzo smiled at him, and it was such a long time since he'd seen it that McCree felt his heart stop.

“I am grateful, at least. She did not agree with me.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’,” McCree said, and started walking ahead.

Rhonda had dropped them off in the middle of a field about a day's walk from Hanamura, surrounded by dense forest. Hanzo was looking forward to the exercise; it had been a long time since he had traveled by simply walking. McCree always insisted on catching a ride by hitchhiking or clinging to the back of a truck for his dear life.

McCree looked at the GPS route to Hanamura and groaned. “My feet are already sore,” he said.

“Perhaps some calluses will do you good, McCree,” Hanzo chided, staring after a brief glimpse of a deer in the distance.

They were silent, soaking in the pleasantly warm air and enjoying the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves. They had arrived at the best time of the year, when everything was just blooming with a soft green newness. Hanzo felt a pang of nostalgia, but it was the sort of pain that felt healthy to embrace.

McCree had been fiddling around with his cigar box, stuck in his own thoughts. Hanzo did his best to ignore him, until he said, “Are you ever gonna tell me why the Shimada Clan wants you dead?”

Hanzo sighed. “It is not important. Why the sudden interest?”

“Well,” McCree paused to light a cigar, “in the beginning I wouldn't even ask, but I've told you all my dirty secrets, and we've been together for, what, almost eight months now? Ahh, I dunno, just thought you'd be more open by now. Forget I asked.”

Hanzo considered the grass for a few moments before replying. “I killed my brother,” he said.

McCree was silent

Hanzo sighed. “It was by the Clan’s order, of course. He would not conform to his purpose, so I had no choice. But I will forever be dishonored by my mistake. He did not deserve to die that day.”

McCree hesitated before gripping Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo went rigid for a second, but relaxed into the touch, allowing himself to be comforted.

McCree felt awkward, doing this. He tried rubbing his hand a little and settled with a pat and put his hand back up to his cigar, blowing a circle into the air.

“I'm sorry, for whatever that's worth,” McCree said.

Hanzo nodded his appreciation.

The difference between the two men's emotions just then was rather large. Hanzo felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders by telling McCree the truth. Perhaps it was that he feared the worst outcome, that McCree would be revolted by his act of fratricide and leave him, which of course would never happen. He felt closer to McCree, like they could trust each other even better. He watched McCree's cigar clouds tendril and billow through the air and felt a rare sense of peace.

McCree felt more awkward than a horse on a roof. He didn't know why he'd asked Hanzo that; he never planned on asking anything Hanzo didn't give willingly. He thought Rhonda - stupid, cow licking Rhonda - had rubbed some of her suspicion off on him with all her hearsay. He wished Hanzo would say something, but he had a vacant look in his eyes and something was telling McCree not to break this fragile silence.

The sky had begun to turn the soft orange of an apricot when they finally reached a road, and slowly darkened to its black pit as they continued towards Hanamura, walking in the ditch. The air was revealing the vestiges of the winter chill that should've been gone for some months, and both Hanzo and McCree were eager to get inside somewhere warm. They followed the road east until they found a roadside inn promising hot food and bath.

“What do you think,” asked Hanzo. “Should we keep walking to Hanamura, or call it a night?”

“Like hell am I gonna walk any more,” McCree said, already crossing the parking lot to the entrance.

Inside was blessedly warm. Hanzo had to put a hand on McCree's shoulder, indicating they had to take off their shoes. McCree looked annoyed at this; Hanzo supposed anytime he had to go around without the constant click of his spurs was wasted opportunity. Hanzo went up to the omnic innkeeper at the desk to request a room.

They were led down the hall to their room. It was fairly large, with a table in the centre and the two futons laid out side by side on the right. The omnic showed them their yukatas, put away in the set of drawers on the left, before they exited.

Hanzo began putting on the yukata while McCree investigated the porch beyond the sliding doors.

“Are you going to put on your yukata?” Hanzo asked.

“Do I have to?” McCree said.

“It is much more comfortable,” he said.

“Fine.” McCree took off his jacket and pants and shrugged on the the robe.

“No, you put the left side on top,” Hanzo said.

McCree did as he said and tried tying the belt in front of him.

Hanzo gave up watching him and took over. “Allow me.”

McCree held his arms up to allow him to take over. “Why's it gotta be so complicated.”

“You will learn,” Hanzo said.

He was tying off the belt when he looked up, feeling McCree's eyes on him. He realized how close they were and stepped away, clearing his throat.

“I will make some tea. Supper should be here soon, then we can take a bath.”

Supper was delicious, in Hanzo’s opinion. McCree struggled with the new foods and had to be taught how to use chopsticks, but he admitted it was tasty.

“Not as good as a fresh steak, but it fills the stomach just the same.”

“You say that about everything,” Hanzo said.

“I do not!” he replied, indignant.

Hanzo laughed. “I am going to the bath. Are you joining?”

McCree looked shocked. “Oh right. Y’all share baths,” he said. “Okay, let's try this out.”

They found the bath totally empty. Apparently not many people were staying at the hotel this time of year. They both stripped to nothing but towels and stepped in, grateful for the way the heat felt on their muscles. McCree closed his eyes, spreading his arms out.

“Feels like it's been years since I've had a good bath,” McCree said.

Hanzo was finding it difficult to know where to look. His eyes kept wandering to McCree, naked as can be, his soft muscles mocking him with their perfection. He realized what a bad idea it was to bathe together. They may both be men, but that sort of thinking was a privilege of his past, before that night in Dorado.

Great. Now he was thinking about Dorado again. He tended to imagine against his will what it must have been like, McCree on top of him, pushing against him. Kissing him, the feel of his beard, his teeth, the way he tasted. The smell of his cigars was alway there, in his imagination, surrounding the scene in mist. When had he grown to like that smell? He would never go so far as to smoke, but the clear air felt empty of something.

Hanzo gave in to temptation and let himself look at McCree's body, admiring his chest, wandering over his biceps, wanting to touch the soft hair of his stomach. This was very bad. Apparently McCree had wormed the idea of sex so well into Hanzo’s mind that he was starting to feel attraction towards the cowboy. Impossible, of course. It must be reverse psychology, or something. McCree was starting to sweat from the heat of the bath, drops rolling down his forehead and onto his nose. McCree wiped the sweat off his face with a wet hand, and Hanzo looked away as McCree opened his eyes. He was half hard from thoughts alone. He cursed himself and tried to close his eyes and meditate, thinking of his brother, of the assassins right now tracking him, of any turn off he'd ever encountered. Greasy, disgusting pizza that was more cheese than bread. The way the grease coated McCree's lips, making them shine. Riding in a cattle truck, the smell of everything animal attacking his senses. McCree and him had been forced to squeeze in side by side beside the driver and his wife, their thighs pressed against each other, McCree's arm stretching behind Hanzo’s neck for comfort. Nothing was working.

“What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?” McCree asked.

Hanzo started guiltily. He fought the urge to cover his crotch, lest he bring attention to his condition.

“Why do you ask?” he replied shakily.

“You look worried over something. Dontcha think we'll be okay getting to Hanamura?”

“That's not it. Of course we will be fine.”

“Then what's eatin’ ya?” McCree persisted, leaning forward to look into Hanzo’s eyes.

Hanzo avoided him stubbornly.

“It is nothing,” he said.

“Hanzo,” McCree said in a sing-song voice. “I know when you're lyin’. You got a tell.”

“I do?” Hanzo said, startled.

“I'll tell ya what it is if you tell me what's bothering ya.” McCree was smirking.

Hanzo searched for a plausible lie, but his mind was wiped clean by McCree's stare.

“All right, all right. You keep your secrets.” He lit a cigar - God knew where he got it from - and puffed luxuriously towards the ceiling. How could McCree be so comfortable in such a situation? Hadn't he said himself he was attracted to Hanzo? Shouldn't he be the one blushing and stuttering? Hanzo couldn't take any more.

“I will leave first,” he said, standing up.

“Already?”

He dressed quickly into his yukata and went swiftly back to his room. The omnic was there clearing away their supper dishes, and when they saw him they bowed and asked if he had any more requests.

“Sake. I need sake.”

“Right away, sir.”

They returned minutes later with a tray, and Hanzo settled on the porch, ready to deal with his thoughts.


End file.
